A Wardrobe Full of Shorts
by Cyri's Alter Ego
Summary: A series of Sherlocky shorts, totally unrelated and just needing somewhere to live. Probably mostly humour. Will include Sherlock being Sherlock, John being John, and anything else that I feel may be necessary. Such as Johnlock. Which is absolutely necessary, of course.
1. Johnlock

_I had to do this. These have to go somewhere, since I'm building up quite a vast collection in the back of my hard drive, and nobody was ever going to read them otherwise, because I don't consider them long enough to stand by themselves as stories. In short, this is going to be a great big thing where I stick all of the random drabbly unrelated Sherlockfic that I write. I'll update as and when I want to, so several months might pass between some updates, a few days between others. And some of them are going to be _very_ short, just warning. But hopefully someone, somewhere will enjoy them ^_^ And none of them are in the slightest serious._

_I don't own Sherlock, though. Have fun!_

* * *

**Johnlock**

"Good news." John shut the door to the apartment and sat down heavily in an armchair.

Sherlock didn't look up. "And by 'good', you mean 'boring', don't you? I can tell," he added, aiming a dart at the wall, "your jeans are turned up." John winced as the plaster cracked. He supposed he should be grateful that Sherlock wasn't actually shooting things. Again.

"Er, no, actually, this is quite interesting," he tried. "We're internet sensations."

_Crack. _Sherlock picked up another dart. "Boring."

"There's more, though," John defended himself, wondering how long it would take for Mrs Hudson to notice what was happening to her wall.

"I could care less." _Crack_. "But go ahead. Enlighten me."

John leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "The fans seem to have taken a fancy to the idea of 'Johnlock'."

Sherlock lowered his hand and sat up. "Johnlock?"

"Yeah."

"What's Johnlock?"

"What's-?" John opened his mouth in surprise, and then closed it again. "You know what? You're the detective. Work it out."

At once, Sherlock's forehead creased in a frown. "Johnlock…" he murmured. John could almost see the cogs whirring in his over-sensitive mind. "Clearly a fusion of your name and the word 'lock'… But what does 'lock' mean? Maybe a locked room, or you in a locked room? More likely. From your obvious embarrassment, it's plain that it isn't something you'd be comfortable discussing. You, locks. Something kinky, then? You, locks, something kinky. Obvious, since this idea has been contrived by the people who read your blog, meaning they're most probably young, female… the sort of people who'd be more likely to create something with a sex-orientated motive…"

John sighed and leaned back in his chair, waiting for Sherlock to mutter himself into silence. He'd get there eventually.

Several hours later, Sherlock looked around sharply.

"John," he said aloud, "you never told me you were gay."


	2. Sherlock Holmes: Master Annoyance

_Thanks to XxAmi. IzunexX (fanfiction doesn't appear to want to let me type your name properly), Guest, and Sendai for reviewing! As for the question Guest asked... well. Why _was_ it good news? *winkwinknudgenudge*_

* * *

**Sherlock Holmes: Master Annoyance**

"John." Sherlock's voice drifted from the other side of the dark apartment. John, who was updating his blog, didn't lift his eyes from the laptop's screen.

"Just a sec, Sherlock."

Barely a moment passed before Sherlock spoke again. "John."

"Hang on, Sherlock, I'm busy."

Sherlock paused to consider this. Then; "John."

"Just wait one minute…"

"John."

"For goodness' sake! Would you give me a moment?"

For a while, Sherlock fell silent. John sighed and returned to typing.

But it was not to last.

"John."

John bit his tongue and stifled a small noise of irritation. He shut the laptop. "_What_?" he asked, whirling around to face Sherlock, annoyed. Sherlock's fingers were steepled and resting on his hunched knees, and he was staring at them intently. At John's voice, he glanced up as though he had been roused from deep thought.

"Hmm? Oh, nothing, I was just bored."


	3. Do You Just Carry on Talking?

_Sherlock does this so darn much. I love him. Although I think my opinion would be different if I actually lived with him._

* * *

**"Do You Just Carry on Talking When I'm Away?"**

"John, pass me my phone. It's on my desk."

As John had left the apartment over three quarters of an hour ago to go on a date with his girlfriend Leanne (or was it Amy? No, no, no, _stupid_, that was last week), Sherlock's request went unanswered. Sherlock, whose eyes were fixed on a patch in the wall where a mouse or some other small animal had fancied a nibble, thought little of it and sunk back into his thoughts.

…Yellow tie, and- yellow? Not exactly the perfect match with the dark suit he was wearing, so obviously someone not used to dressing up, or someone who didn't want to be there – maybe he wanted to embarrass the one who had invited him? Bad terms with them, then, or was it more likely that he was just badly dressed? No, the former – his shoes had been cleaned and his suit pressed, he knew what was expected of him, and he lived alone, so it wasn't as though his wife had done it for him…

"Get me my laptop, John," said Sherlock absent-mindedly.

No reply.

…Definitely lived alone, because the smudge of grit left on his cheek from his engineer's job. Engineer? Yes, obviously, texture of oil means train, grit means railway lines, and who else is on the railway lines but the repairmen? No one told him about it, he was tired, went to bed with it still on his cheek, classic, _cliche_…

"John," said Sherlock, with a touch more annoyance in his voice, "I really need my laptop."

…And then he was killed in his bed. No, no, he was found in his bed but the sheets were only spotted with blood, not soaked, which meant he had stopped bleeding by the time he was brought to his bed. Conclusion? Already dead. Did he get up the next morning, then? Yes, dressed in a suit and that horrible yellow tie – business meeting at work? Or maybe he never went to bed, maybe it was in readiness for an evening out; parents, girlfriend he didn't like…

"I know you're trying to be considerate, John, but really, it distracts me more that you're ignoring me," said Sherlock impatiently.

…No, no, _no_, definitely single, men in a relationship don't go out to meet their other halves with dirt on their faces, think, _think_…

"Very well. If you insist on being so trying, I shall call Mrs Hudson."

…Think, think, think, _think_…

"Mrs Hudson!"

…Yellow tie… who saw him last? Colleagues?

"John!" Sherlock exploded, making John genuinely jump as he opened the door to their flat.

"Uh- what?"

"Would you shut up?"


	4. Wordsearches

_This just came to me when I was staring at the back of a cereal box. It's so easy to imagine Sherlock trying to fill up his time with these..._

* * *

**Wordsearches**

John entered the room in his dressing gown and waded bleary-eyed through a sea of puzzle books to the kettle. It wasn't until the water was boiling that he realised there was something wrong with the situation.

"Good morning, John," Sherlock greeted him cordially from the sofa.

"Uh... Sherlock." John supposed, given that he had come for breakfast to find a rotting corpse, two thousand bees and several litres of what looked suspiciously like blood on the counter on several separate occasions, this wasn't the strangest thing his flatmate had ever presented him with, but... still. "What's up with all the puzzle books? And, um, how long have you been sitting like that?" 'Like that' was a nod to Sherlock's current position, with his knees drawn up to his chin, staring into the distance.

"Bored, thirteen hours," came the reply. "But those things are too easy, John - so easy! How can you people find them challenging?"

In reply, John picked up one of the puzzle books at his feet and flicked to a random page. It fell open on a wordsearch, and not only had Sherlock ringed every word in the list of what was to be found, but he had also 'discovered' quite a few that were not there at all - 'bra', 'yet' and 'say' being three of note. There was also a message next to a ring of three consecutive c's; _'This anomaly is clearly the result of bias and not randomisation in the slightest. Get a new job. The British economy does not need people like you.'_

Oh, even with a wordsearch, Sherlock Holmes just could not help getting clever.

"Right," said John, snapping the book shut. "So, er... what are you doing now?"

"Thinking."

"You're thinking?"

"Thinking about how I have nothing to think about. It's quite a frustrating problem."

John sighed.

Sherlock didn't half give him a headache sometimes.


	5. Oh, the Irony

_This one just explains itself, really XD Oh, and thanks to Alice Day for reviewing!_

* * *

**Oh, the Irony**

The morgue's door smashed open, and John Watson stumbled through, clutching at the door-frame, panting, and soaked head to toe in blood.

Sherlock Holmes looked up from the body he had been inspecting. "John, you're covered in blood," he said in surprise.

John gritted his teeth. "No _shit_, Sherlock," he hissed.


	6. Assuming the Worst

_Thank you so much to , 3star, irishphoenix89, and Dr. Who Nut for reviewing! I'm totally devoting too much time to this and ignoring the actual fanfic I'm supposed to be working on... But I swear it helps me write so much, so all is good :)_

* * *

**Assuming the Worst**

Sherlock gestured frantically and made a frankly suicidal leap in front of a cab, which swerved to avoid him to avoid him and sped on.

"Taxi!"

"Sherlock!" John spluttered, appalled. "Sherlock!"

"Taxi- _what_, John?"

"You can't get into a taxi like that!"

"Like what?" Irritated, Sherlock looked himself up and down. His hair was slicked down with filthy water and tangled with twigs, his face was slathered in an alarming amount of what seemed to be war paint and he was streaked in blood. Oh, and he had misplaced the right leg of his trousers. "Why not?"

This was exactly what John had meant by 'spectacularly ignorant'. "Um, because the obvious _deduction_ here is _not_ that you're hot on the trail of a serial killer who led you a false trail down the Thames, across the Thames, and occasionally _into_ the Thames, following which you discovered that your brother's bull mastiff has taken a serious dislike to you and tried to escape by digging your way out of his back garden, believe it or not," he told him bluntly. "It's that you're drunk out of your bloody mind."

Another taxi zoomed by, throwing up sparkling droplets of water. "Really?" asked Sherlock. When John nodded soberly, he pouted. "People are _stupid_," he muttered, and trudged off to find a handy bus he could steal.


	7. The Source of Sherlock's Wardrobe

_Thank you to irishphoenix89, johnsarmylady, and 3star for reviewing! _

* * *

**The Source of Sherlock's Wardrobe**

"Sherlock, where did you get your coat from?" asked John casually one afternoon.

Sherlock considered a moment before answering. "Well, do you remember when I told you about my skull-? Actually," he interrupted himself, changing his mind at once. "Don't worry."

John never asked Sherlock about the source of his clothing again.


	8. Fire Alarm

_Thank you to irishphoenix89, johnsarmylady, 3star, and Hummingbird1759 for the reviews! Hugs for all!_

* * *

**Fire Alarm**

"Oh, so have you always been a teacher, or was it just recently that you-"

John broke off as his phone vibrated, indicating the arrival of a text. He smiled apologetically at his pretty date.

'_Quick! There's a fire, get home, now! – SH'_

John's eyes widened. "Oh, my God," he said, rising to his feet.

His date got up too, concerned. "What is it?"

John glanced briefly at her before another text came through. "I'm sorry, I-"

'_And I mean NOW! – SH_'

Ten minutes later, John burst through the door at top speed, out of breath and looking around wildly. "Sherlock! Sherlock, what's-?" Then he stopped. 221B Baker Street was just as he had left it, Sherlock gazing intently into a corner and all. No fire. No smoke.

"You took your time." Sherlock held out his hand without moving his gaze an inch. "Laptop," he explained dispassionately.


	9. Texting Sherlock

_This is just my idea of what Sherlock's phone looks like :P_

* * *

**Texting Sherlock**

ALL MESSAGES (last 10 displayed)

JOHN WATSON (1,876 messages sent)

_Your turn to get the milk. – JW_  
Wednesday 8th, 3:15pm

_This one's probably an eight. – JW_  
Thursday 9th, 8:43pm

_No, I said it's an eight. Was that an insult? – JW_  
Thursday 9th, 8:47pm

_Get your arse out of the house. – JW_  
Thursday 9th, 10:52pm

_Mycroft's texted me again. Can you make him stop doing that? – JW_  
Saturday 11th, 10:11am

_Her name's Lily, and no, I can't exactly leave right now. – JW_  
Saturday 11th, 9:32pm

_If this involves experimenting on me again, then no. I still have the scar from last time. – JW_  
Tuesday 14th, 12:06pm

_One of your thumbs is missing. – JW_  
Wednesday 15th, 7:07pm

_I meant the ones in the fridge, genius. – JW_  
Wednesday 15th, 7:14pm

_I am going to punch those pretty cheekbones straight through your skull if you don't stop Mycroft's dramatic kidnappings soon. – JW_  
Friday 17th, 6:46pm

MYCROFT HOLMES (1 message sent)

_Sherlock, what's going on? – M_  
Wednesday 1st, 1:58pm

_What have you done this time, Sherlock? – M_  
Friday 3rd, 7:18pm

_I told you to stop breaking into top secret security vaults, Sherlock. – M_  
Sunday 5th, 4:33pm

_Sherlock! Stop abusing my position in the British government! – M_  
Monday 6th, 8:19am

_What's going on?! – M_  
Saturday 11th, 9:55am

_Sherlock! – M_  
Saturday 11th, 10:00am

_Sherlock Holmes, answer your phone! – M_  
Saturday 11th, 10:17am

_Stop acting like such a spoiled child! – M_  
Saturday 11th, 10:22am

_Are you making it a point to ignore every single one of my messages? – M_  
Saturday 11th, 10:34am

_…Charming. – M_  
Saturday 11th, 10:38am

MRS HUDSON (23 messages sent)

_I found another eyeball in the fridge. You really should find a more hygienic place to keep those.  
_Thursday 9th, 2:29pm

_What on earth have you been doing to my wall, Sherlock Holmes?!_  
Friday 10th, 6:51pm

_Don't you dare blame poor John!  
_Friday 10th, 6:53pm

_There are three fingers in the biscuit tin, dear! Are you trying to make some horrible joke about ladies' fingers?_  
Sunday 12th, 11:18am

_Are you boys going to be home for tea?_  
Wednesday 15th, 5:28pm

_We're having jacket potatoes :)  
_Wednesday 15th, 5:33pm

_There's someone at the door for you, Sherlock.  
_Thursday 16th, 4:01pm

_I don't condone guns in the house, just to remind you._  
Friday 17th, 10:17am

_I found those cigarettes you were hiding, Sherlock. Don't think you can slip past me._  
Friday 17th, 1:35pm

_Not your housekeeper, dear._  
Saturday 18th, 9:25am

IRENE ADLER (1 message sent)

_I like your tie. Let's have dinner.  
_Thursday 2nd, 6:00pm

_Feeling lonely. Let's have dinner.  
_Friday 3rd, 6:00pm

_Sleepy today. Let's have dinner._  
Saturday 4th, 6:00pm

_Watching you think is boring. Let's have dinner._  
Sunday 5th, 6:00pm

_Bought a necklace. Let's have dinner._  
Monday 6th, 6:00pm

_Let's not have dinner.  
_Tuesday 7th, 6:00pm

_Just kidding. Let's have dinner._  
Wednesday 8th, 6:00pm

_You're so bored. Let's have dinner._  
Thursday 9th, 6:00pm

_I'm not dead. Let's have dinner._  
Friday 10th, 6:00pm

_Goodbye, Mr Holmes._  
Friday 17th, 6:00pm

LESTRADE (277 messages sent)

_We don't actually need your help, so don't bother coming down._  
Tuesday 7th, 3:16pm

_You're an absolute sodding nuisance, do you know that?_  
Tuesday 7th, 6:57pm

_Yes, my name is Greg._  
Wednesday 8th, 10:03am

_You have no permission to call me Greg._  
Wednesday 8th, 10:11am

_In fact, address me as Detective Inspector Lestrade, please._  
Wednesday 8th, 10:14am

_We don't need you._  
Thursday 9th, 8:40pm

_We don't need your assistant, either._  
Thursday 9th, 8:47pm

_Would you stop undermining the police, just once?_  
Thursday 9th, 8:52pm

_…Okay. This time we really, really need you.  
_Monday 13th, 11:08am

MOLLY HOOPER (3 messages sent)

_Hi Sherlock :) xx_  
Thursday 16th, 3:15pm

_It's Molly xx  
_Thursday 16th, 3:18pm

_From the morgue xx  
_Thursday 16th, 3:22pm

_I got your number off John xx  
_Thursday 16th, 3:24pm

_I hope you don't mind xx  
_Thursday 16th, 3:27pm

_Sherlock? xx  
_Thursday 16th, 4:09pm

_Oh, were you in the middle of a case! I'm sorry! xx  
_Thursday 16th, 4:16pm

_Sherlock? I'm really, really sorry! xxxxxxx  
_Thursday 16th, 4:40pm

_Oh, okay. I'll be quiet, then.  
_Thursday 16th, 4:46pm

_Sorry to bother you.  
_Thursday 16th, 4:49pm

UNKNOWN NUMBER (2 messages sent)

_Hellooo, sweetie-pie! xxxxxxxxxx_  
Tuesday 7th, 12:41pm

_Well, that would be telling, wouldn't it, now? ;) xxxxxxxxxx_  
Tuesday 7th, 12:50pm

_Ooh, aren't you handsome today? xxxxxxxxx_  
Friday 10th, 1:00pm

_So boring, Sherlock. You're so, so boring… _  
Saturday 11th, 3:23pm

_;) xxxxx  
_Saturday 11th, 6:56pm

_Do something interesting. For me? xxxxxxxx_  
Sunday 12th, 7:32am

_I'M GOING TO KILL YOU, SHERLOCK HOLMES._  
Wednesday 15th, 1:11pm

_Only joking! xxxxxxxx_  
Wednesday 15th, 2:22pm

_Or was I? ;) xxxxxxx_  
Wednesday 15th, 3:33pm

_I'll see you boys very, very soon… xxxxxxx_  
Friday 17th, 4:00am


	10. Cake Is A Lie

_I've recently begun to play Portal, and... well, this happened. Not that I can even imagine John as a gamer, but this seemed so perfectly silly XD And thanks as always to any and all reviewers!_

* * *

**Cake Is A Lie**

"…John."

"Yes?"

"Yesterday you promised me cake if I returned home before two am this morning. It is now one fifty-three and I have just arrived. Not that I am susceptible to bribes, but I cannot see any such reward."

"…"

"…"

"Sherlock?"

"What?"

"The cake was a lie."


	11. The Day Sherlock Lost

**The Day Sherlock Lost**

"John."

"Sherlock."

Slowly, Sherlock turned around and raised his hands above his shoulders. When he was greeted by the shiny muzzle between his eyes, he didn't flinch.

"Who put you up to this?" he asked. "Mycroft?"

John's eyebrow twitched, but his hand was steady. Military-trained. Army-precise. This man, Sherlock knew, would have no qualms about shooting him, right here. "Lestrade," he replied shortly.

Sherlock almost smirked. "I'd never have thought it. And coming from me, that's saying something. Well done, John. Tactical."

Frowning deeply, John eyed the glinting trigger that he could just see peering from Sherlock's pocket. "No, not tactical," he said roughly. "This has gone on long enough. Six people, Sherlock. Innocent people. They didn't even know-"

"Yes, but did you see the looks on their _faces_?" Sherlock interrupted earnestly. His eyes were shining.

John shook his head in disgust. "That's not how it works. That isn't how you're supposed to play it." He tightened his finger on the trigger. "Listen, Sherlock. I don't want to do this, but you've left me no other choice."

Sherlock's eyes darted from John's hand to his own pocket, calculating. No, it was no use. John was a skilled gunman, and there would be no time to draw his own weapon before he was shot. So he sighed. "Fine," he grumbled, tilting his head back with a hint of resentment and spreading his arms wide. "Just make it quick."

He'd given up. John let out a long breath and aimed. In two seconds, it would be over.

In one sharp movement, he pulled the trigger.

A jet of water flew from the tip of the water pistol and struck Sherlock squarely in the chest.

Sherlock yelped. "John!" he protested, rubbing his now-wet shirt. "That was _cold_!"

"So was what you shot at those poor people," said John severely. But he couldn't help grinning. "You lose!"

A very sulky look was his response. "I didn't _lose_…" Sherlock muttered. "I simply-"

"Lost," supplied John cheerfully. "Let it be known across the globe that there _is_ in fact something Sherlock Holmes _doesn't_ excel in."

Sherlock gave a reluctant grunt. "Water gun fights," he grumbled.

For the next four days, John went around looking very pleased with himself indeed.


	12. Opting for the Obvious

**Opting For The Obvious**

Oh, Lord. John was angry.

That was the first thing Sherlock thought when he heard the door slam. Sherlock didn't know why John was angry, but he knew it was likely because of something he'd done.

"Sherlock." Oh, no. He was speaking quietly. Not good.

"Yes, John?"

"I'm not impressed."

"Why?"

"Take a guess."

Well, it could have been one of several things. He'd chased John's latest girlfriend out of the house with a meat cleaver lately (he'd thought she was a disguised serial killer – his mistake), and then there was that time with the giraffe… "Because I'm an arrogant sod?" he tried, opting for the obvious.

John rolled his eyes. Sherlock was relieved to see that he had relaxed minutely. "Yes, you are," he agreed. "The actual reason was because you hid my door keys and I've been knocking outside for about ten minutes, but yes."

Sherlock blinked, slightly ruffled. "You're not supposed to _agree_," he objected.


	13. John has an Emotion

**John Has an Emotion**

"No, listen, Sherlock, I just want you to tell me-"

"Can't deal with you now," Sherlock cut in dismissively, before opening the door and shouting down the corridor. "Mrs Hudson! He's having an emotion!"

John gazed at Sherlock in disbelief as he grabbed his coat and whisked away.

He'd definitely been watching too much Doctor Who.


	14. Snowdrifts

_It's been snowing here. Hard. I'm off college, so lucky you guys :P Thanks for reviews everyone :3_

* * *

**Snowdrift**

There was a yelp of surprise from outside. John, who was just putting on his coat in order to follow Sherlock out of the door, stopped.

"Sherlock?"

There was no reply, so he peered out of the door. It had snowed in the night, but Mrs Hudson had done some sweeping, so big piles of snow were in every corner.

...Except one. Instead, there was a very snowy Sherlock on his knees with a disgruntled look on his face.

John stared. "Sherlock... Did you just walk into a pile of snow...?"

Sherlock stuck his snow-covered nose in the air and stalked away like an embarrassed cat.


	15. Bigger On The Inside

_We're back to the Whovian theme, sorry to non-Whovians :P_

* * *

**Bigger on the Inside**

"Sherlock!" yelled John. The suspicious sounds from inside the cupboard stopped.

A guilty, muffled voice emerged. "…What?"

John sighed. "It's not bigger on the inside!"


	16. Mad Man

**Mad Man**

Sherlock gripped John around the shoulders and looked at him with an alarming amount of intensity. "John Watson, there's something you'd better understand about me, 'cause it's important. And one day your life might depend on it."

He paused, as if for dramatic effect, and John looked perplexed. A moment ago they'd been playing Monopoly (a bad experience).

Sherlock grinned. "I am definitely a mad man with a coat."


	17. Honey, I'm Home!

**"Honey, I'm Home!"**

Sherlock strode into the apartment late one afternoon, looking pleased with himself.

"Honey, I'm home!" he called.

This would have seemed very out of character to the casual observer, but fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on how you looked at it) John knew all to well of Sherlock's newfound status as a hardcore Whovian, and as such, he bit his tongue to stifle a sigh.

Sherlock looked at him expectantly for a few moments before prompting, "Well, go on, then!"

John was trying very hard not to roll his eyes. It was proving impossible. With much effort, and a great deal of reluctance, he replied to Sherlock's greeting.

"…Hello, sweetie," he muttered unwillingly.


	18. Clock Tower

**Clock Tower**

_Clang._

The clock tower struck, once.

Sherlock didn't move.

_Clang._

Again the clock tower rang out, deep as a gong.

John gazed at Sherlock, but he didn't move.

_Clang._

The clock struck. Sherlock was still.

_Clang._

The fourth strike came, but still Sherlock was still.

John tried to get to his feet, but he'd been trying for hours, and he couldn't.

_Clang._

John saw Mrs Hudson pull back the curtain and shake her head, but he ignored it.

_Clang._

Big Ben was ringing out over the whole great city of London, and John sat clutching a long-finished coffee in his hand. Sherlock could have been a statue.

_Clang._

Seven. Seven strikes. Magic number seven.

"Sherlock…" The word was out before John knew it. A hoarse, croaky whisper. A plea. Somehow, Sherlock would hear the seven tolls of the clock tower, hear his voice, and rise up, rejuvenated.

But he didn't. He was still, and silent, and his wildly unruly hair was sticky with blood.

It was morning. Finally, John stretched his stiff limbs and got out of his chair.

He was in the morgue.

Sherlock Holmes was dead.


End file.
